Only whiskey burns the sorrow as she grieves.
Purple velvet once surrounded golden dreams.
Both a season and a reason left on leave.
Now a memory left...
L’Auteur Fatslug
Fatslug wonders how people dreamed or daydreamed
before the movies infiltrated their thoughts.
He himself has become his own Steven Spielberg—
or, depending on his...
In the photo of the kitchen fire,
We are dressed for Christmas:
Me in a flammable hand-me-down jacket,
Her in her costume jewelry
And her Edward Scissorhands t-shirt.
The...
My father, tangled in the height of adolescence,
wept outside Old Saint Paul’s Church as spring died,
reading Desiderata. The poem lay inscribed
in rock at the...
Through the harsh whistle of a
bullying Blue Jay from the feeder,
the Common Yellowthroat’s
wichity-wichity-wichity,
we find our own through bill and tap
and rhythmic drumming on drainpipe,
bone...
True Story Metaphor for My Parents' Divorce
In this shrinking house, I am still growing,
my wrist gripped between window and sill,
one toe pinched in neat...
When I went to pick my daughter up at pre-school,
the kids were on the playground. Her teachers
eyed me uncomfortably and glanced across
the slide at...
The hives have gotten through another year—
I’m sure you’ve heard of the alternative.
Buy soon and you can have the Holsteins here.
No guarantee of how...
art opening
instead of a gun
you use a camera
amputees
are your subject
/these poor people/ you say
the walls of the gallery are dark
prints pinned neatly under spotlight
//life...
LACUNA
Another sun unfurlsover chewing gumcanyons, long gnawedby your foothold.
A corpus colossus,hippocamping: you couchin fault lines, hammockedwhite matter.
Stroke mewith each toss-turn —a neuron-starved bender.
Hypoxia will...
